


Collision Course

by Charmsilver



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Car Accidents, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Arthur Pendragon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-03 15:21:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19466740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charmsilver/pseuds/Charmsilver
Summary: When Merlin gets into a minor car accident there's only one person he wants to see...





	Collision Course

Merlin puts the radio on a couple of miles out of Camelot. He knows the road, and he knows exactly where the signal is strong enough to provide more than static. Music buzzes out of the car’s aging speakers, a little tinny but good enough. It’s some hit from the eighties that Merlin knows instantly; he starts to hum along.

He’s in a good mood. He’s just been to visit his mum a few miles away in Ealdor and she’s doing well. But now that he’s heading home he’s looking forward to seeing his friends--Gwen, Lancelot, Gwaine and the rest--even Arthur. Especially Arthur. Arthur, who tangles his insides into knots, who manages to be both prattish and loveable simultaneously. Who Merlin is a tiny bit in love with. And who has no idea that Merlin feels that way.

Sighing, Merlin focuses on the music instead. He’s not far now, and he’s looking forward to a hot shower in his flat, and then a cup of a tea followed by bed. Merlin probably should have waited until the morning to drive home, but he’d gotten antsy at his mum’s, who had started to coddle him like a little boy again, so he’d decided to just head out. All well and good except he’s always hated driving in the dark, and it’s pitch black outside.

At least he knows the road home well, and there’s almost nobody else out at this time of night.

The song finishes and another starts. A particularly sharp corner is coming up so Merlin starts to slow down; it’s unmarked, but Merlin knows the exact right speed to take it at.

He’s startled when he sees headlights appear almost as if from nowhere. Another car takes the corner from the other direction, travelling fast¾too fast. They barrel over the centre line, and time slows right down.

Merlin doesn’t have any time to respond; they thunder past, clipping the corner of Merlin’s car as they go. Merlin yelps as he loses control of the wheel. He doesn’t flip over but it’s a near thing, and he goes spinning instead, coming to a stop only when the passenger side of the car slams into a tree. The car chokes and goes dead, the lights puttering out into darkness. The other car is already long gone, the driver either entirely oblivious or completely uncaring.

Dazed, his heart hammering so hard he’s afraid it might burst out of ribs, Merlin assesses himself. He lifts his hands to his eyes, tries to see if he’s injured, but it’s too dark. He can’t feel anything broken, but he’s pretty sure he’s in shock. Blindly he reaches for his phone, his shaking fingers fumbling with the password screen so many times it almost locks him out.

“Fuck,” he curses. “Fuck fuck fuck.” He gives up on the password and turns on the torch function instead. With the light now shining on his car, the damage is clear. His car is completely wrecked and he’s lucky it’s mostly on the passenger side. If it had been the driver’s side… Merlin shudders, fighting back nausea. He shines the torch on his legs, his arms. He’s got a few cuts, probably bruises, but he seems to be mostly intact.

For a moment he does nothing except lean back against the seat and breathe. In and out. Then he reaches for the keys and turns them.

Nothing.

“Fuck,” Merlin says again.

He switches off his phone torch and has another go at entering the passcode. This time it works. He dials the first number he thinks of.

“Merlin? What the hell? What time do you call this?”

At the sound of Arthur’s sleep-soaked voice, Merlin feels a tiny part of him relax. “Arthur,” he says, half choking on his name.

His distress must be audible, for Arthur’s tone changes immediately. “What’s wrong?” he says, and Merlin can hear rustling in the background.

“I was driving home,” Merlin begins. “Car hit me, I lost control, hit a tree. My car is wrecked. It won’t start. I--” His voice wobbles as he fights back tears of shock.

“Where are you?” Arthur is asking, and his voice is laced with concern. “Are you hurt?”

Merlin explains where he is as best he can. “I’m not hurt,” he says. “Least, I don’t think I am.”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Arthur says, and hangs up.

Merlin holds the phone to his ear for another few seconds. The news that Arthur is coming to get him fills him with relief but his body is shaking with the come-down from the adrenaline and he’s powerless to stop himself from crying. He slumps down in his seat and sobs, trying to stifle himself in his sleeve even though there’s no one else there.

Those twenty minutes feel like the longest of his life. When the shock starts to wear off he can feel the small lacerations in his skin, and the chill sets into his bones, making him shiver violently. When he sees headlights in the distance, he nearly sobs with relief.

Arthur’s Lexus slides to a halt behind Merlin’s car, its headlights illuminating full extent of the damage. Merlin watches in the mirror as Arthur gets out and runs towards Merlin’s door; he’s still wearing his pyjamas. He yanks it open and suddenly Merlin is staring into Arthur’s stricken eyes.

“Jesus, Merlin.” Arthur hands are on Merlin’s face without warning; he tilts Merlin’s head this way and that, checking for injuries. When he finds none there, he switches to Merlin’s arms and hands, thumbs brushing the cuts and bruises, smearing blood all over Merlin’s skin. “Fuck.”

“I’m fine,” Merlin tries to reassure him. “I don’t think I have any major injuries.”

Arthur pauses. He lifts his palm to Merlin’s face and cups his cheek; his own jaw is strained with tension. He drops his hand without saying anything, uses it to unfasten Merlin’s seatbelt. “Come on,” he says. “Can you stand?”

Merlin wants to scoff: _Of course I can stand_. But his legs are like jelly, and he holds tightly onto Arthur’s arm as he climbs out of his car. Arthur is right there the whole time, his body warm and solid and holding him as he does his best to stay upright.

“You’re all right,” Arthur says, pulling Merlin into a proper embrace. “I have you.”

Merlin wants to melt into Arthur. He also wants to cry. And throw up. He buries his face into Arthur’s pyjama shirt and inhales. He smells like sleep and soap and comfort.

“All right?” Arthur asks after a while.

Merlin nods and pulls back. “Thanks,” he says, feeling a little sheepish now that the shock has mostly worn off.

Arthur squeezes his shoulder and flashes him a gentle smile.

Arthur can be a complete prat, but he knows how to be kind when it matters most.

“All right,” Arthur guides Merlin towards his own car. “Let’s get you home.” He opens the passenger door and Merlin slides in, curling up on the leather seat. When Arthur starts the car and pulls onto the road, Merlin does his best not to panic, especially every time he sees headlights in the distance. Arthur drives slowly, slower than he would normally, and he shoots Merlin concerned glances every few minutes until Merlin huffs.

“I’m fine,” Merlin says, wrapping his arms a little tighter around himself.

Arthur only grunts in response, and he doesn’t stop glancing at Merlin because he’s a gigantic, annoying, wonderful prat.

When they pull up outside Merlin’s house, Merlin expects Arthur to drop him off at the front door and leave, but Arthur fishes the key out from the hanging basket that hasn’t grown flowers to at least three years, shoves it in the lock and kicks the door open, guiding Merlin inside with a hand on the small of his back.

“Arthur, really, you don’t need to come in,” Merlin says as Arthur leads the way into the living room and propels Merlin towards the couch.

“Nonsense,” Arthur says. “You’re in shock, you’re obviously upset. I’m not leaving you alone right now, Merlin. Don’t be an idiot.”

“Prat,” Merlin mutters, out loud this time. But it lacks the usual bite. His hands are still shaking, after all.

Arthur grins and drapes one of Merlin’s ratty blankets over him. “Stay there,” he says, switching on the radiator as he vanishes into the kitchen. He returns with a steaming cup of tea, poured just the way Merlin likes it: no sugar and a dash of milk.

Merlin’s heart is doing somersaults. Then Arthur plonks himself down on the couch right beside Merlin so that their sides are touching. He reaches absently for one of Merlin’s books and squints at it while Merlin drinks his tea. The hot water does wonders for his nerves and soon he’s relaxed quite a bit, enough to allow himself to lean against Arthur a little.

“Feeling better?” Arthur asks after the silence has stretched out for almost half an hour.

Merlin hums. “Much,” he says. “Thank you. And I’m sorry. I guess you would rather be sleeping right now.”

Arthur moves; he tilts his head so he can look Merlin in the eye. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, Merlin. You needed help and I was glad to give it.” He says this like it’s the most obvious fact in the world, and Merlin feels completely overwhelmed by everything. He hides his face in Arthur’s chest, which means he can feel the rumble of Arthur’s chuckle.

“I know I can be a bit of a prat to you sometimes,” Arthur continues, and there’s something in his voice that gives Merlin pause. “But you mean a great deal to me, Merlin. I hope you know that.”

It’s unusual for Arthur to be so heartfelt, and it makes Merlin realise that he must have been truly worried. The thought warms him and he smiles against Arthur’s shirt. He’s about to make a jibe at Arthur to lighten the mood, to release some of the pressure building between them, but then Arthur wraps his arms around Merlin and rests his chin on Merlin’s head and Merlin’s brain short circuits.

He’s been in love with Arthur for years. He’s always assumed Arthur didn’t feel that way about him, and that if he knew how Merlin felt, he would be gracious but reject him all the same.

But this? Right now? This feels right somehow. And suddenly he’s not so sure that Arthur doesn’t have feelings for him too.

“You’re a good friend,” Merlin says, finally finding his voice. “Even if you are a prat.”

Arthur laughs again and it’s deep and rumbly and makes Merlin a tiny bit giddy.

“Are you going to stay there all night?” Arthur asks, which would be embarrassing, except he’s rubbing Merlin’s shoulder blade with his thumb in a soothing manner, which makes Merlin think it might be all right if he did, in fact, stay there all night.

“Yep,” he says.

Arthur guides Merlin’s head back with his palm until they’re nose to nose. Merlin, who’s still feeling the after affects of the adrenaline, says: “Are you going to kiss me?”

For a minute he’s convinced that Arthur’s going to. They’re barely an inch apart and Merlin can feel Arthur’s breath on his lips.

“No,” Arthur says, and it’s like a punch to the gut.

“Oh.” Merlin sags, though Arthur holds him upright. He feels like a punctured balloon.

So it’s confusing when Arthur props Merlin’s chin back up and presses their foreheads together. They’re so close their noses bump and Merlin wants to pull away but he can’t quite bring himself to.

“I’m not going to kiss you _now_ , Merlin,” Arthur says. “Because you’ve clearly had a traumatic experience and I wouldn’t want to take advantage of you in such a vulnerable state.”

Merlin blinks. “What,” he splutters. “Since when do you… what? I’m not vulnerable!”

Arthur simply quirks an eyebrow. “To be clear, I do want to kiss you. Very much.”

“Um.” Merlin’s brain is short-circuiting again and it’s very inconvenient. “I. Um.”

Arthur’s grin is both dazzling and maddening; he tucks Merlin back against his chest and returns his chin to its place atop Merlin’s head. “Don’t strain yourself,” he says, sweeping his hand up and down Merlin’s back. “You should get some sleep. Do you want me to stay tonight?”

How is it that Arthur can be so utterly infuriating and so wonderfully kind in the same breath? Merlin’s about to say _No, I’ll be fine_ , and then he remembers the flash of headlights, the sound of his car hitting the tree, the feeling of losing control. He shudders and huddles closer to Arthur.

“Yes,” he says, only slightly ashamed.

Arthur squeezes him gently. “Good.”

He’ll make his way to bed at some point, but for now he lets himself be with Arthur, to revel in the feeling of his embrace. To Merlin it feels like the safest place in the world.


End file.
